Black as His Name
by Spidersndue
Summary: Sirius Black's Escape


It was a timeless place, the island. Night and day drew upon themselves and clashed together to form a resolute, inky grey. The clouds blotted out the Sun and Moon, and the permanent storm which remained fixed upon the fortress did nothing to satisfy the eyes, except perhaps illuminate briefly with flashes of of lightning, cracked and fiery as if the sky was breaking apart, showing the few who still looked out the misery which surrounded them. Below the waves rolled and crashed upon the rocks and themselves, as if a never ending war was being wages beneath the sea, and the waves were nothing mirrors to the feud below. But that was nothing compared to what the Sky and Sea were doing. Like locusts the rain descended from the sky, clinging to everything and battering the waves. The elements were at war with themselves, and the fortress island was caught between. Such was the state of the island prison of Azkaban, the ultimate punishment for the impeders of wizarding law, and the ultimate safeguard for the wizarding world.

Miles away from any land or anything at all, escape was seemingly impossible. But just making escape impossible would not be enough. The will of any cornered creature is like water, and will find away even through the most secrets of locks. Cornering them isn't enough, for the will fight on. They must surrender willfully and wholly. Escape must not just be impossible, it must be unthinkable. The will of any man must break to a point where life becomes nothing but breathing. Thought must not exist, for with thought soon follows feelings, and the will to survive, which will always prevail.

And so, Azkaban prison was not only guarded by the ever ongoing war waged by the Skies and the Sea, but by the blacks cloaks that floated freely in the storm.

They looked like rags at first, weird, strange things. From afar the looked like smoke. But closer up their color become not gray but black, as if night itself had come together to form the creature, except no stars were visible in the ink. Even in the hurricane that surrounded them, they stood in a silent vigil, motionless, unmoving and untouched by the rage of nature itself. Indeed, around the creatures there was such a calm that it seemed as if Nature itself was frightened of the black demons. Ghosts in the night, shadows in the day, they stood, silent, eating the minds of the men inside, crumbling their minds, sucking their happiness, until they remained a shadow of themselves, free of all thought, their only goal to find themselves, and unable to do so, became like their guardians, cloaked in darkness and filling the void which was once their hearts by feeding on the sorrow and anguish of mortal men. This was where they thrived, Azkaban, built in tears and sadness. The Dementors, guardians of a mortal hell.

He heard screams and emptiness in the cell next to him. Creeping forward to the bars, he tried to peer into the blackness beyond. He couldn't see anything, but he felt them, and the winter which always surrounded them. The bars grew colder, until they burned like fire. Ice crept onto his hands but still he gripped the gates to his cell tighter. He knew from experience that the best way to survive a visit from their benevolent guardians was to keep a hold onto something in this world, something he knew to be real. He spent hours everyday memorizing every little detail of the bars in from of him, until he could withstand an attack simply be gripping the bars of cell lightly, something which infuriated them to no end. He was the one human which they could not break no matter what they tried, the one who still had his mind. The one who was still free, no matter the size of the fortress that held him. He was a top-security prisoner, held in the blackest of blocks. There was no light at all. Nothing but blackness around him, save the occasional opening of the door to bring in or out a prisoner. In all his time in the prison, only twice had that happened. He didn't know when, he had lost track of the days after the first 7 years.

But right now his mind was focused on one thing: the little scene which was happening in front of him.

He heard a scream, and then cry's. the soft swish of a cloak. The sound of dead hands curling on a rod of iron.

"No please, they're all I have I left. Please, please." Sobs. The man was openly weeping now. "Please. Please. Aahhhhhhhhh!" A long, anguished scream. And then, silence.

For a moment, the air grow colder. Fear grew in his heart. He held on tighter, trying to distract himself. He felt the stir of something evil, deep within the Earth. He shook.

And just as suddenly as it came, it was gone. The little warmth in the air was back. He settled, and bent, straining to hear something. And then he heard their voices.

For anybody but the people who worked closest to them, their voices were mute, coming out in groans and gasps. But voices they did have. They were high and cold, piercing your heart and drawing out everything inside. They spoke quietly, voices mimicking their shadowy voices. They spoke in an evil tongue, their words barely discernible, but somehow he knew they spoke of death and destruction, and the feasts that would be had when humans finally fell. For like the hounds were made to catch rabbits, and like the weasels were made to catch fish, so where the Dementors made for humans. They were creatures of darkness. Where they came from no one knew, but it was common knowledge to all in Azkaban on how their numbers multiplied.

He felt rather than saw them leave the block. He listened intently. Nothing. No deep breaths, no whimpers or cries, the sounds that usually followed a Dementor's visit. Nothing. Not a sound.

He drew back from the bars of his cell. The man in front of him had been a favorite of the Dementor's, and he often heard them hissing in front of his door. But this time it was different. There had been more of them, and the attack was far worse.

Crawling away, to the back of the cell, he curled up into a ball. resting his head on the cold floor. Somewhere he heard the telltale drip drip of water.

The door to the cell block opened. The sudden light, dim though it was, was blinding. He shielded his eyes. For the first time in a long while, he was able to see clearly around himself. The cell was the same as always, the food shaft directly above a newspaper. A bucket was in the corner, used for sanitation. It was in dire need or sanitation itself.

The rest of the cell lay bare, except for an odd object lying on the other side of the room. As he went toward it, he heard voices, and the sound of feet. He scurried to the tiny corner of the cell which was still dark. Not wanting to be seen.

"Bloody hell, third time this month this is. They getting out of control."

"Quite Barney, they're everywhere."

"I'd wager. Bleedin' crawlin' 'round everywhere, they are."

A large and rather weighty man came into the light, followed by a young man pale and shivering, looking around nervously. Suddenly he caught sight of his cell, and gave a small noise.

"What the hell are you goin' on about there, Sam?" Barney looked curiously at the young man. Despite the chill, the fat man seemed to be sweating.

"Nothing, nothing at. I-I just, thought I saw, Sirius- I mean, HIS cell."

Barney wheeled around to look at his cell. The man grinned.

"Thought right didn't you. Bright young lad."

"Is he really...there?"

"If he ain't, we're in trouble then, ain't we?" He gave a rough laugh. "No, I reckon he's still in there, waitin'"

"Waiting for what?" The young man, Sam, was terrified now.

"What else? The same thing all of them are waiting for. You-know-who's return."

Sam's face was full of fear. "R-return?"

Yes, Return? He was confused. What did this fat man, Barney, know about this. He was interested.

"He's not really comin' back. But it's the only thing that keeps these Death Eaters sane."

"And that's a good thing?!"

"Sure, if it keeps us from having to do this everyday. You know how the Dementors flock to them."

Sam backed away from him. Barney, however, strode toward his cell door, and knocked loudly.

"Hey, Black. You here. You goin' have a visitor tommorow. That's right. Very important to. Mr. Cornelius Fudge!"

He stirred. Fudge? Visiting him? Why?

Meanwhile, Barney and Sam moved to the cell opposite to him, and opened he door. It hadn't been opened for so long that it took a while for them to open it fully. No sooner had the done it then the Dementors came. One carried a long, dark cloak. The men instantly backed away. Soon, they disappeared inside, only to return a moment later bearing the man. Sirius had never even seen his face, and would never see it.

The Dementor's filed out the door, followed closely by the men. Barney hesitated a little, swinging back, and yelled: "Nighty-night black! Sweet Dreams." Then he shut the door. Darkness returned.

Sirius Black lay against the floor, trying to sleep. The night air grew colder.

There would be one more Dementor on guard tonight.


End file.
